The Prisoner's Dilemma
by to2llyuntraceable
Summary: An original fiction, Senators Delilah Jones and James Murphy have successfully schemed to prevent sweeping legal change by bribing the Supreme Court. Now on the verge of discovery by the FBI, they have a choice. If they both talk, its life in prison for each of them. If neither talk, they get reduced prison sentences. If one talks and the other doesn't, only the snitch walks free.


**To** **the zero people going to read this, this is just an old original I wrote that I'm posting here so I can beta a fic and hopefully get a beta for my fic in turn. This isn't from any fandom, but if you like my writing then go check out my other stuff. I have a few RWBY stories I've just started, though without a beta they are taking forever. Seriously though, even on this critique is appreciated, I can always get better with my work.**

**Also, this thing is a parody in the sense that the situation is ridiculous and the politics are obvious. I wrote this in a political class and I'm a Democrat, so of course I was going to be heavy handed with the metaphors. Please don't be offended, I only chose the Supreme Court Case because I knew the teacher would like it.**

* * *

The Prisoner's Dilemma

In Room 2:10, all is still. Four mahogany shelves stuffed with court records crowd the archive. A pair of creaky wooden chairs rests underneath a small window, the only light source. Dust particles swim in a shaft of golden light, colliding and dispersing in pure chaos. Dust films coat the spines of the books, the red leather warm in the afternoon glow. Golden hour in Washington D.C. is able to heat even the frigid atmosphere of the Capitol Building. Visible through the window are throngs of people, obscuring the front steps from view. Reporters jostle for position, hoping to find an inside scoop on the greatest American political scandal. Picket signs saying, "People Before Profit!", "Supreme Court Injustice!", and "Power Corrupts!" are thrust violently into the air. The crowd's chants of "Shame! Shame! Shame!" knock against soundproof concrete.

Far above the unrest, Senator James Murphy makes his way towards the archive. In the early hours of the morning, he had flown five hours from his home state Nevada on an unplanned trip to Washington. He shambles beyond polished marble hallways and statues of political greats of a different era until he reaches the backroom. He checks over his shoulder as he enters, sits in the chair on the left, and puts his head in his hands. He checks his watch: 5:45 PM. The door opens again, and Senator Delilah Jones enters. She sees the broken figure before her and immediately she straightens. Murphy rises from the chair and lumbers toward her, but makes no move to greet her. She remains silent. They simply gaze at each other while the mob swarming Capitol Hill, floating in suspension in the eye of a hurricane.

Jones sits on the right chair directly by the window, her blonde hair taking on a slight reddish tint. The creases on her forehead are suddenly plainly visible, and she proudly shows off the battle scars from three kids and 20 years of public service. Murphy is content to fall back into the shadows of the left. Jones breaks the silence.

"How is your family doing?" Murphy winces slightly.

"They are fine. Yours?" he asks.

"Good, good. Just curious, what'd you tell your wife?"

"I didn't say anything. I just let her know I was gone for the day. You have your guy out there now?"

"Yeah." Pulses quicken. Eyes dilate. Murphy checks his watch: 5:47 PM.

Jones forces a smile. "The little one is having his first birthday in a few months," Her facial expression hardens into a scowl. "I wanted to be there for it, fuckface."

Murphy gestures towards the mob and says, "Yeah, well, those guys made it impossible. Besides, the insurance money is a nice gift for him."

"Look, what happens is up to me, and it's up to you. Nobody else. Right now, the only conceivable conviction the FBI would have on you is obstruction of justice. I'd get booked on tax evasion, which will be a similar sentence. However, if we can't cooperate today, the feds might get a little smarter after talking to me, if you know what I mean," says Jones.

There's a flash of rage in Murphy's eyes. He says, "That's your gameplan? Scare me into submission with threats of longer prison sentences? I have half a mind to walk out of here right now." He checks himself before continuing. "I've promised you over and over, I wouldn't talk after today. Let's just both agree to stay silent, and be out of prison in eight years on good behavior. It'd be at least a couple of years before they traced anything back to us anyway."

Delilah shoots him a look of contempt. "Please, you would take the first plea deal they offer as soon as I'm gone. You'd fuck up years of sacrifice just to avoid prison."

"How dare you take the high road. If I leave here you ruin my life. If I stay here …" He chokes up and gazes at distant rooftops through the window. He checks his watch: 5:52 PM.

Jones shouts back, "The high road? Murphy, the whole reason we did this is because we were taking the high road. You were really going to let the most partisan Supreme Court get rid of abortion? If we don't create that slush fund, we're back in the 1800s. Look, three Supreme Court justices are being replaced, Congress hasn't changed, and if you don't want the next appointees to be the same parrots as before, you know what we have to do before we can't do it anymore. Nobody's going to listen to a couple of criminals on how to fix the system."

Jones takes a deep breath. The weight of the moment hangs on her like an anchor.

"We knew what we were getting into, what the consequences would be if we were found out. Or did you not comprehend the gravity of the situation, _Senator_?"

Murphy sighs, the emotional crescendo gradually receding. "It… It wasn't like that. We were vigilante heroes, fighting for what's right, saving this country without any recognition. I was caught up in the romance of it all. I never really processed the consequences because the prize was worth whatever cost to my well-being. Don't you remember what it was like?"

"Of course, I do James, that's why we have to do this. This is our last gift to society, the last thing we can do before we're made useless by each other or by the FBI. We'll do something lasting."

* * *

_3 years ago_

James Murphy did not make a habit of watching sunrises. It was a distraction for the melodramatic, those who needed to romanticize the world, and their place in it. Given the events of the night before, however, he thought he was allowed to revel in his own personal narrative for a bit. He seated himself by his bedroom window to wait for the sunrise. Murphy glanced down at himself and noticed he was still wearing the now rumpled collared shirt and creased dress pants from the night before. His suit jacket was thrown haphazardly onto his wooden chair. He could feel the alcohol from last night course through him, his head throbbing, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth, his stomach lurching forward as he rocked in his chair. _My first night as Senator, and I was a complete mess. _Murphy thought wryly_._ _Glad I'm from Dayton, and not somewhere with cameras._

Dayton was a small suburb of Carson City, with the outward appearance of a ghost town that had experienced a recent economic downturn. Downtown was little more than a few old-time stores tacked onto a highway. The houses were surprisingly modern, however, and extremely cheap as well (the only reasons his wife hadn't completely resented the initial move). They could have afforded better, but renting an apartment in Washington D.C. was very expensive, and the boarding school that his children went to wasn't doing them any favors financially. He spared a glance at her who had not stirred since he had exited the bed. _Guess she's used to the empty space by now._ The election had gotten in the way of date nights more often than not, and the spare free moments were used to alleviate the collective exhaustion. He had wined and dined just about every member of the Republican establishment from Dana Loesch to Alex Jones, to oil tycoons, to corporate backers, even an under the table visit to Shirley Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church. His sideburns had grayed, and then whitened, and both of their cheeks had creased from the thousands of forced smiles. _First time I could have slept with Susan in months and I pass out drunk, _he thought._ And today, I'm flying two thousand miles away. _The corners of his mouth upturned slightly, but the small grin didn't reach his eyes.

He looked out the window again, towards the horizon, the first few rays of sunlight kissing the top of the McCullough Range, brightening the miles of flatland surrounding the town. Dayton was surrounded by Mojave Desert, a flat barren expanse of monotonous sand and brush, with a few crumbly hills chiseled by ancient rivers in the distance. The temperature outside was a frigid 16˚F, as if the town was so insignificant, the sun had forgotten to heat it overnight. _It's poetic justice, _Murphy thought. _The dawn of a new era in my life, and the view is not all it's cracked up to be. _

"I know I've said this before, but I don't think a single one of them has any ideas of their own. They're like Hitler Youth in the bodies of 60-year-old men," said Delilah Jones, practically crushing her cell phone in her hand as she walked through downtown D.C. "And the most original guy is crazy."

Her mentor, the former Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, chuckled over the phone.

"You have it good, you know. Ten years ago, a 51-49 majority would have been tenuous at best. Now it's practically a mandate."

"I don't want it to be a mandate, damn it. The Whips make it feel like the Cold War in Congress. Each vote is just an arms race. Remember the health care vote last year, when the GOP had control? Half of the Democrats didn't even bother to show up to vote, and I bet when we repeal the damn thing this year the Republicans won't either. Our country is basically a bunch of preexisting laws and executive orders."

"It's been two weeks, give them a chance. Call up that Murphy guy, at least he's different."

"He's a demagogue. And he flip-flops. He's also a Republican, which in your day meant a little less, but now he's essentially the enemy."

"Yes, but he's new. Invite him to coffee, see what he's about. At this point, I'll take anything over the status quo."

"How Trumpian of you to say that, Chuck," said Jones.

Schumer chuckled again. "Point taken, but he had an audience for a reason. Besides, I would have loved to know what was going on in his head," he replied. "Send Murphy an email. See what he's about. Know thy enemy."

"Whatever, Chuck."

She hung up the phone on that note and stared at it for a bit before making a decision. _Know thy enemy, huh. Guess I'm assuming there's more to him than meets the eye._

The coffee shop was noticeably bereft of customers. Jones had purposefully picked an awkward time between lunch and dinner to meet so that they could talk in private. Murphy had picked the place, a small shop in a poorer sector of the city. Jones would have thought Murphy was being surreptitious but she had noticed he had a habit of wearing the same clothes a few nights in a row at Senate sessions. Honestly, she suspected he didn't have enough money nor self-awareness to care. He had been furiously texting the whole time he had sat there in complete silence for one.

"So, Mr. Senator," she began, pausing to let him look up from his phone. "What do you think of your first two weeks here?"

"It's great," he said, before returning to his phone. "Everything is great."

"What kind of plans do you have?" she tried again.

"Great ones"

"What you think of that awful filibuster the other day."

"Real great."

"God your insufferable."

Murphy sounded so exasperated, it was almost comical. "Why am I here, Mrs. Senator? We haven't spoken at all before this, and it's not like you made any effort to be friends."

"You're here because you're crazy. I want to make sure that crazy isn't going to harm anyone. Clearly, I am too for showing up." Jones got up to leave, but Murphy quickly looked up and gestured for her to sit down. Luckily for him, the change in his behavior was enough to keep Jones curious.

"Huh, at least you're straightforward about it. I haven't met one person who'll give me their honest opinion of someone since I got up here," said Murphy grimly.

"Oh, I'm sure it's all positive," Jones replied.

"All right, what do you think of me? What do you think I stand for?" Murphy sat forward in his chair, no longer feigning disinterest.

"You're a racist sexist homophobe who hates government, hates taxes, and hates every country but America. Based on your speeches, it's pretty accurate."

"Huh, I can see why you'd think that. But actually, for the most part I'm a centrist, I couldn't care less who is in whose bed, and my main issue with government is that you have a ton of people doing the same jobs, not the regulation itself."

"Bullshit. For your sake, it has to be bullshit."

"No, it's true."

"Everything you have said on television up to this point goes against that. Can you at least be a man and take an honest stand on something?"

Murphy forced a smirk. "Senator, I was a Political Science Major. And I grew up learning about Keynesian economics, and gentrification, and gun rights. I needed none of that to win the election. I just went where my campaign manager pointed me, said the right things to the right people, and bam I was elected. Now instead of a campaign manager, the whips are feeding me lines. At this point, anyone not in the leadership are mouthpieces at best. I just had the balls to meet with whomever it took to win, and be proud doing it." Murphy broke his smirk and looked completely serious for the first time since he arrived. "I'm going to lose my wife and kids for a job where my main responsibility is to agree with other people."

If Jones were not a practiced diplomat she would have walloped him. "So, let me get this straight. You hate the fact you're a puppet, but you are the best puppet around."

"That's right, Senator. And there's no reason to fix what isn't broke."

"Let me give you my real honest opinion: you're an asshole. Never in my life have I been so frank with someone, but somebody has to say it. You're also, unfortunately for me, totally right about this job."

"I'm a representative of the people, and nothing more," said Murphy, smirk returning.

Jones clenched her fists and rose from the table, "Look, given the circumstances, I wouldn't trust me. Frankly, I don't trust you, especially through all that 'I don't care about anything' smarm. So, I'll make the first move. I'll break with my party over the next few months at least once. But if you really are so disillusioned with the process, meet with me again."

Murphy mulled this over for a bit. _Worse comes to worse she ends up alienating herself from her part, _he thought.

"Sure," he finally responded. "Looking forward to it."

"I'm not," came Jones' reply, and she walked out of the shop without placing an order.

Three months later, sitting in a stuffy courtroom Jones saw her opportunity to take the initial stand. The Supreme Court, though once nonpartisan, had developed into little more than an uncontrolled legislative machine. Justices made sweeping resolutions, forcing Congress to bend to its will. Nominations to the Supreme Court were an expression of trust in an individual that he or she would spout the party line until their death. She gauged the room around her. Most of the celebratory atmosphere was coming from her half of the Senate. The few non-Democratic Congressman were a few reporters practically bouncing the camera with excitement. She glanced over at the Republicans, silent, waiting for the vetting to begin. Most wore scowls, but Jones glanced over at Murphy, who caught her gaze and smiled. The Senate Majority Leader was an old man with platinum hair and the jowls and temperament of a bulldog. He had barked and blustered his way through the confirmation process, preventing any real questions being asked. The nominee, a younger man with a similar personality, had been handpicked by the President for his political ideologies, despite a lack of experience, emotional control, and subtlety about his biases. Now he sat gleefully in his chair. Jones rose, the first to cast her vote: how appropriate.

"Fellow Democrats, look at the man before you, and choose this man's most desirable quality. Is it tact for most of you? Intelligence? Is his pompous personality strangely charming? For most of you, I would bet it was his youth. For most, to have a bastion of progressiveness on the court for years to come is a prospect too tantalizing to risk going against." Jones paused, her anger unable to be quashed. "You spineless jellies are too afraid to criticize the man who, despite my vote, will in all likelihood be confirmed from a vote by our Vice President. I cannot stand by and allow this practice to continue. I vote no." She finished, and glanced around her, satisfied with the shocked expressions from her entire party. Murphy, on the other half of the room, had lost his infuriating smirk. Then she finally saw the expressions of the rest of the GOP. They all wore the same expression: they were containing laughter. Nobody outside of Murphy had taken her little outburst seriously. The nominee passed with the vote of the Vice President.

She remembered the anguish that followed that night, the alcohol binge that culminated in a tryst that had broken up her first marriage. She had twirled in a low-lit room, her vision blurring, her stomach spinning like a centrifuge, blissfully ignorant of the identity of the man in front of her. As long as she could parrot the party line, she could spiral as much as she wanted, consequences be damned.

Jones was shocked when the Supreme Court agreed to review a case concerning the legality of abortion. Knowing that the Court was handpicked to represent one voice, she felt hopeless. Murphy had a brazen solution: bribe the Supreme Court. Murphy set up a shell company, using money from Jones' already existing slush fund. Their target was the very same justice that had torn Jones' optimism from her all those years ago. She was shocked at how easy he abandoned his morals for cold hard cash. It wasn't long before she and Murphy were caught, as the large influx of cash into the coffers of the justice was immediately investigated. Soon, they would trace back the money to her. It made no difference the case was won. The consequences had arrived.

* * *

Present

Murphy checks his watch, 5:58 PM. Panic begins to set in.

"I can't trust you. What am I doing? This is crazy!"

Murphy gets up to leave, not even sparing Jones a second glance. He's almost out the door when Jones suddenly explodes, "If you want to go out and be Upton Sinclair, then fine! But don't be surprised when your wife wants to distance herself and her kids from the man who bribed a Supreme Court Justice!"

Murphy stops dead in his tracks, swivels, and stares hard at his accomplice. "Don't you bring my family into this."

"I wonder what your wife is thinking right now? You made an unplanned trip without telling her where or why you are going, and the only thing you leave is a note? I bet she thinks you're a disgusting pig having an affair." Murphy's eyes begin to redden, but he does not break his stare

"I bet you know that the moment that the FBI investigation goes public and your name is among the accused, that your marriage would be steadier if you were. Do you want your family to hate you?"

Tears roll down Murphy's cheeks. He can't break the stare. Jones begins to cry too.

"Look, we both agreed to meet here. We both agreed this is how it is. The last way we can effect change. Martyrs of a broken system."

She drags him into the window, the golden sunlight.

They kiss, as the clock begins to chime. A mile away, a self-hired gunman takes aim at the two heads barely visible in the window. There is a single crack, a bit of fireworks. And the window explodes, showering Jones and Murphy with kaleidoscope shards. The bullet enters the back of her head and exits the back of his. In this split second the mob is silent, just before it will scream and disperse. But, just for a moment, just before the bullet hit, Jones and Murphy smile.


End file.
